


Paint It Purple

by resonae



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, bird!Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 20:13:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1578023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resonae/pseuds/resonae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint can actually turn into a small, purple bird. Steve is the only one to know, and even he finds out by accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint It Purple

Steve looked up at a knock on his window to find a small lavender bird on the window ledge. He opened the window slightly to let the bird hop in. “There are hawks up here, you know,” he told the bird, and it chirped indignantly up at him. The bird shook its feathers out and hopped up onto Steve’s armchair, and within moments Steve had a naked Clint Barton in his chair.

 

Steve had found out about Clint being able to turn into a bird kind of by accident. Clint had apparently been out flying and then there was a storm when he got back, making him perch onto the closest floor and shivering in the howling winds and rain. Steve had let the bird in mostly because he wanted to draw it. The bird had then fallen off its perch and faceplanted as Clint.

 

Clint had made him swear not to tell anyone. From what Steve got, not even Natasha or Fury or Coulson knew about Clint’s ability to turn into a bird. He looked like a cardinal, except instead of the red, he was a light purple. Steve had promised not to tell anyone, on the condition that if Clint ever fell from his perch from a battle and no one else could catch him, he was to turn into his bird form.

 

Clint had given him a look. _Duh, Cap_ , he’d said. _I don’t have a death wish, or anything_.

 

“You really think I’d get caught by a hawk?” Clint sounded offended as he pulled one of Steve’s hoodies over his head. “By a _hawk_? Hawkeye, being caught by a _hawk_?”

 

“Okay, okay.” Steve rolled his eyes, handing him a pair of shorts. Clint pulled them on. Steve was just big enough that Clint looked like he was wearing his older brother’s clothes. “Excuse me for being worried. There was a red-tail on my ledge yesterday. I don’t know how much damage you can do when you’re that small. Or if you could fly faster than a hawk.”

 

Clint snorted and shook himself, like he was still a bird shaking his feathers out. “I can outwit a hawk, Cap.” He still sounded a little peeved, so Steve patted his head. Clint glared up at him from under his hand, and Steve offered him a smile. Clint snorted again and shook his head until Steve’s hand fell off. “I’m not a _kid_. I’m older than you.”

 

“Actually-“

 

“None of that I’m-actually-90-years-old crap.” Clint waved his automatic response away. “I’ll give you your clothes back later.”

  
Steve didn’t point out that Clint had been gradually stealing his wardrobe. Clint must have had a pile of Steve’s clothes somewhere on his floor. Steve had once suggested Clint just leave some of his clothes here and Clint had agreed it was a good point, but it had never happened.

 

Not that Steve minded, really. Seeing Clint kind of flounder a bit in clothes that were two sizes too big was kind of cute. He wouldn’t tell Clint that (he didn’t really fancy being murdered in his sleep, which he had no doubt Clint might do), but he couldn’t help but smile at Clint pushing the sleeves up because they kept falling past his fingers.

 

\--

 

JARVIS was disabled on all of their private floors, so he had no way to detect that Steve was letting a little bird every so often and that the bird was Clint. “It’s not that I don’t trust you guys,” Clint said, stealing Steve’s colored pencils to doodle on one of Steve’s blanks. “I just – it’s better if no one knows.”

 

Steve had a drawing of Clint as a bird, snoozing in the sunlight on his windowsill. Clint had decided it was okay if Steve kept it, mostly because no one would probably connect the dots. All the same, Steve had made the purple redder so it looked more like a dark-colored cardinal. He didn’t really like the way the color had turned to, but he figured keeping Clint’s secret was bigger.

 

Clint was once again in Steve’s clothes, sitting on the ledge of the window he’d come in on. He was doodling all over Steve’s paper in all sorts of different colors that kind of reminded Steve of drawings he’d seen in preschools.

 

“You don’t have to make excuses,” Steve said, “I understand.”

 

Clint nodded and rocked on his seat a little. “Anyway, I’m glad at least you know. It was kind of getting hard, keeping it from everyone.” He started doodling tiny purple birds and red-blue-and-white circles that Steve guessed were supposed to be drawings of his shield. It was kind of endearing.

 

\--

 

Natasha cornered him one day.

 

She made it seem like he wasn’t actually cornered, in the middle of the workout ring, but he really had nowhere to run to. She tucked the left strands of her hair behind her ear and smiled lazily at him. “You and Clint are sharing a secret.” Before Steve could respond, she added, “No point trying to deny it. I know there’s something. I don’t want to know what it is, and I’m not going to go prying. But I just want you to know that if you betray Clint’s trust in _any_ way,” she paused for effect, rubbing her thumb and middle finger together, “I will make sure you regret it.”

 

“I’m not going to,” he said, a little defensive. “Natasha.”

 

“I know,” she said sweetly, like she hadn’t just been threatening him. She patted his shoulder. “Just wanted to get it out there.”

 

\--

 

“I thought you _said_ hawks won’t be able to get to you,” Steve said, half panicked as Clint hopped in with a bloody wing.  


“It wasn’t a hawk,” Clint gritted, turning back and making the cut into a long gash. “I got shot.”

 

“ _What_?” Steve yelled, unsure that was actually better.

 

“Fucking teenagers with BB guns,” Clint said, dripping blood onto Steve’s latest sketch of the Manhattan skyline. “Shit, sorry.”

 

“It’s okay, just – _sit_ , I’ll go get Bruce or something-“ Steve paused at Clint’s panicked silence and instead said, “I’ll grab the first aid kit, then, but it looks like you need _stitches_.”

 

He dabbed the gash with alcohol. It was an ugly thing that ran from Clint’s elbow to wrist, but it looked shallow enough. “I was in the Bronx, just minding my business and watching people. These kids had BB guns and they were just using it to scare cats. I didn’t think they’d shoot at _me_ when I decided to get out of there. They shot like fifty times and got in one lucky shot.” Clint watched Steve pull the bandages tight around his arm. “Damn, Tony is going to ask questions.

 

Steve was tight-lipped. “I thought BB guns were illegal in New York.”

 

Clint shrugged. “I might or might not have been in a shady neighborhood tailing someone.” He whistled when Steve finished up. “Damn. Good work. I can’t ever make my bandages this neat. I don’t think I need stitches.”

 

Steve would rather let Bruce decide that, but he and Clint had seen enough injuries to have a decent idea of what needed stitches and what didn’t. “No switching for a bit, okay?” He said, rubbing Clint’s wrist absently.

 

“Yeah.” Clint nodded, slumping against the chair. Steve realized Clint was still naked, but he also realized Clint was dozing off. Blood loss, Steve guessed, combined with having to have flown all the way to the tower from the Bronx with an injured wing. Clint didn’t fuss when Steve slid an arm under his knees and around his shoulders to put him on the futon and spread a sheet over him.

 

\--

 

Tony, as expected, started to bug Clint about the arm as soon as he saw it. “My bowstring snapped,” Clint said, as easy as nothing.

 

Tony narrowed his eyes at him. “I _made_ you that bow. You’re telling me my bow snapped?” Clint nodded. “Your drawing arm’s cut. If the bowstring snapped, the hurt one would be your right arm, not your left arm.”

 

Clint rolled his eyes. “It happens. Let it be, Tony.”

 

Tony’s eyes narrowed at him. He kept glaring at him through dinner, and hovered when Bruce offered to look at it. “That does _not_ look like a bowstring-snap wound, Barton.”

 

Bruce ignored Tony and said, “You cleaned this up a lot better than you usually do.” He dabbed at the wound gingerly. “I don’t think you need stitches.”

 

“It’s because Steve did it.” Clint shrugged.

 

“ _Steve_ knows why you got this?” Tony rounded on Steve instead, and Steve offered him a smile. Tony didn’t take it. “Why am I being left out?”

 

“You are not being left out if the Captain is the only one that knows,” Thor pointed out. “If our archer has a secret, that is fine with me. We all do.” Thor picked up his glass. “More wine, Clint?”

 

\--

 

“It’s not that I don’t _trust_ you guys,” Clint said, again, in Steve’s room for no reason this time. He was toeing the futon and doodling in Steve’s drawing pad again.

 

“I know, Clint, I know.” Steve said, reaching for the pack of oil pastels Clint had discarded after they got all over his fingers. He’d been trying to draw Clint’s bird form again, with the right colors this time, but none of his attempts so far had turned out the way he’d originally done the picture. Clint rubbed his stained fingers on the pad, leaving an orange streak over his yellow and red Iron Man masks. “You don’t have to justify yourself. Some things you just want to keep to yourself.”

 

“I just don’t want to be hunted again.”

 

Steve paused and looked up, surprised. “Clint?”

 

“You know. Because I’m not really a real bird.” Clint shrugged, rubbing his fingers and leaving more streaks on his paper. “I got caught on film by bird watchers once and got hunted down for forever. Because I look like a cardinal and they don’t really come in my color. Also I’m kind of a freak. If people knew I could turn into a bird…”

 

Steve dropped the purple pastel he was holding and moved to the couch. He gripped Clint’s cheeks in his hands, gently, and coaxed him to look up until they were looking eye to eye. “We won’t let that happen.”

 

He left purple fingerprints on Clint’s cheeks and Clint laughed, and Steve decided to discard his purple bird picture to sketch that instead.

 

\--

 

Maybe it was inevitable that it would happen one day that Clint would have no choice but to switch to a bird or otherwise be splattered onto the sidewalk.

 

Steve didn’t see Clint at the debriefing, although it was obviously the question everyone was asking during it. Fury and Coulson were understandably upset. Natasha didn’t seem too fazed – she just kept glancing at Steve and Steve had no doubt she’d figured out what the secret he’d been keeping for Clint was. Tony kept muttering to himself, Bruce looked like he’d seen weirder (considering who he was, Steve thought the answer might be yes), and Thor thought there was no problem (considering where _he_ came from, Steve thought maybe it might have been normal).

 

Steve came to his floor after a long, long debriefing to find the purple cardinal in question tucked into the corner of his window ledge. He slid it open. “Hey,” he told Clint. “No one’s really upset. Natasha got all your gear.” Clint hopped in and sat, looking like a miserable piece of purple fluff. Steve reached over and ruffled his head with three fingers.

 

Clint didn’t turn human and he instead tucked his tiny self by Steve’s pillow at night. Steve was half worried about turning over in his sleep and crushing him, but then remembered Clint got upset about being caught by a hawk and decided not to mention it.

 

When he woke up in the morning, Clint was in his bed as a human (in his naked glory) and Steve slid out quietly to pull the covers over him. He went down to the kitchen and Tony pointed his coffee mug at him. “You knew, didn’t you. It had something to with him getting hurt that time.”

 

It was a statement, not a question, so Steve didn’t answer. Tony followed him up and Steve wondered if he should stop him, especially considering Clint’s state of dress, but Tony charged into his floor anyway.

 

“Well,” Tony said, raising an eyebrow when he saw Clint, waking blearily. “Am I intruding something?”

 

“Personal space, maybe,” Clint snapped, although it came out more petulant than actually annoyed. Clint wrapped the blanket around him and dug through Steve’s closet to find a hoodie and a pair of shorts. “I’ll return your clothes someday,” Clint said, looking at Steve’s severely diminished drawer.

 

Tony raised an eyebrow. “You get naked Barton in your floor often?”

 

Clint looked uncomfortable with Tony hounding him. Steve knew Tony had no bad intentions, and that Tony also felt sincerely hurt Steve knew but no one else did. But Steve was regretting his decision now that he’d just let Tony follow him into his floor. “Tony, maybe you should just let Clint be for a bit. He’s kind of stretched thin.”

 

Tony’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Yeah, shame he doesn’t trust us too much, huh?” He turned to leave, and Steve saw he’d regretted what he said as soon as he said it. _Tony_ was stretched too thin. All of them knew what it felt like to keep secrets. What it felt like to be terrified because of the secret. Clint having the choice of revealing his secret or die probably stuck a little close to home for all of them.

 

“I do trust you.” Clint said, his voice small. “Just.”

 

Tony turned, rubbing his forehead and looking guiltier than ever. Clint fussed with the cuffs of Steve’s hoodie before there was a small rustle. The change surprised both Steve and Tony. Steve had seen Clint go from bird to human, but never the other way around. The bird wriggled out from under the clothes and flapped its way to Tony, landing on his shoulder. He nipped at Tony’s earlobe. “Man,” Tony said, holding his hand out for Clint to hop into, a small smile spreading on his lips. “You’re a tiny thing.”

 

\--

 

Steve looked up when he heard a tap on the window. He opened the door for Clint and Clint hopped in, shaking his feathers out again. He pecked on Steve’s fingers before he changed, slipping into the clothes Steve had on the windowsill for him. (In the end, he’d had to go to Clint’s room and find his clothes himself.)

 

Clint stretched and came over. “Hey, you got the color good this time.”

 

“I got it right the first time, too,” Steve said, tugging Clint closer so Clint could sit on the edge of his chair. “I just messed it up on purpose just in case someone saw it and thought it weird.”

 

He was just finishing his newest drawing of Clint the purple cardinal, and this time, he’d finally been able to get the color right.


End file.
